Haunted
by Kalira69
Summary: Haunting sobs drive Bokyeong from her bed, but a moonlit walk in the gardens does nothing to calm her. Even less so as her path brings her into sight of the king on his own restless walk.


Bokyeong's eyes snapped open, her body tense as her breath came shallow and rough in her chest, painful, though she didn't dare cry out. She heard the weeping again. Echoing through her troubled dreams and now only stronger in the waking world.

Bokyeong shivered, jerking onto her side and yanking one hand up over her mouth, fingers curled tight and shaking.

Every night for a week she had heard the soft, impassioned crying, and scattered through the days as well. There was no peace for Bokyeong. . . She twitched and ducked her head as though she could curl into the thick ibul and block out the sounds, and heard a low sigh from the ever-watchful Lady Jo.

Adding insult to her position, in that same week she had twice overheard maids, and once even some of the _court ladies_ , some of those who had served at the palace for many years, speaking of _the first_ _crown princess_. Speaking of Yeon Woo's short time here in the palace, her death . . . how gracious and fine a lady she had been.

Bokyeong knew she was not well-liked, even among the court ladies, but this. . .

Rising swiftly from her yo, Bokyeong fixed a harsh glare on Lady Jo. The look kept her frozen, kneeling politely in her corner. Bokyeong paced the room, as though the motion would keep away a ghost coming to claim her usurped place, to. . .

To remind Bokyeong that though she might be queen, that which she had coveted most fiercely was still not hers. Not only was her king's heart not hers despite her love for him, he all but openly despised her, and though she bore the title of queen, Bokyeong was all but a figure of ridicule in her own country, even in the palace. Especially here.

It showed even in her rooms. They were luxurious and perfectly fitting for a queen - they were also the furthest such rooms, in the furthest such building, from the king's own. And everyone down to the lowliest water maid knew that her king wanted her to be always _far_ from his side.

Bokyeong gestured to the light robe folded atop the chest nearest the door, hoping she wouldn't have to speak - she didn't yet trust her voice to be steady. Lady Jo scrambled to retrieve it for her, and help her to drape it around herself, falling neatly over her head.

Bokyeong walked towards the doors, which - after a quick command from Lady Jo - were opened for her, and proceeded through all three sets to step outside. The slightly cool air helped her feel like she could _breathe_ , though after a moment of almost-silence the soft wailing she heard continued unabated, carried almost more strongly on the wind.

Her rooms were far from the Eunwol Building, but still she could hear, tormented by the sounds of the murdered crown princess. Bokyeong squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out the sound by force of will. She proceeded quickly down into the courtyard, her attendants scrambling to follow appropriately.

The moon was high and bright overhead, and the courtyards easy to navigate, though Bokyeong very rarely set foot out of her rooms after dark. She had no care to walk them, however, and she merely made her way to an elevated platform overlooking one of the prettier courtyard gardens.

She rested her palms lightly on the chilled, painted wood of the rail, holding her head high as she looked out onto the garden in the moonlight.

Then she stilled, her breath catching. Her husband walked the palace grounds at night far more frequently than she did, Bokyeong knew - not from his lips, of course, but the gossip was at least trustworthy on that point, and it had been confirmed by one of her ladies, who spoke often with one of the court ladies who attended the king.

Still, Bokyeong had not expected to see him out walking tonight. She considered, despite her rattled nerves, going down to meet him - it was by chance their paths might cross tonight, after all - even as she realised that he was not followed by his attendants.

He was not alone, however. Of course.

His faithful shadow in midnight and scarlet silks, sword in hand, was at his shoulder, as ever. He stopped walking, looking at some of the bright white flowers along the garden paths, the last hanging on before winter fell. Bokyeong's fingers tightened viciously around the railing. She had heard quite enough of _those_ rumours as well.

The king who disdained even the casual company of his queen and took no concubines, who kept his guard - the King's Swordsman - closer at all times than ever his father or grandfather had; ever-loyal Jin Chae Woon who was so rarely out of sight of the king, who despite his looks, his skill, and his reputation - the only man to elicit more wistful feminine sighs in the entire palace compound was _the king_ \- never so much as glanced at any of the women who would happily have fallen at his feet.

The palace could hardly resist such an easy source of gossip, could they? It was rehashed frequently, and Bokyeong herself heard it far too often. She knew it was one of the palace's most popular thoughts to discuss and debate.

Perhaps even more of an insult than the memory of Yeon Woo.

Bokyeong's jaw tightened, her mouth twisting, as she watched her husband take half a step back, Chae Woon's shoulder now brushing his. Neither of the men moved to put any distance between them, Chae Woon even seeming to lean slightly closer, increasing the contact, though of course _no one_ should so much as touch the Sun without-

Bokyeong's nails dug into the wood of the railing.

It was a fact her husband had never hesitated to make use of with her - she was not to touch him, ever, unless he initiated the contact. It was no wonder the rumours were so widespread, and even Bokyeong could hardly deny that.

Yeon Woo, a woman whose place Bokyeong knew she had usurped - whatever her mother had told her, even as a child she had _known_ this was Yeon Woo's place first, she simply had never wanted to admit it - _that_ was . . . to be expected, perhaps. However much it hurt, for Bokyeong loved her king with every bit of her heart.

But to have it rubbed in her face that everyone thought her bested in her husband's affections not even by a concubine but by his _guard_?

While her king might hold it over her that she could never touch his heart, that it belonged to another and always would, Bokyeong had never anticipated facing _these_ rumours. As a child it simply had never occurred to her - she would be his wife and his queen, would have her rightful place and the one she had so desired, as her king's woman.

There had been nothing else in her mind after her parents had assured her she could have that place - perhaps a flicker of concern once she figured out _how_ , but certainly nothing like to the worry of being _replaced_ , of being _rejected_.

Bokyeong was cold, she had spent far more time out in the open air than she had intended, but she could not make herself move save to wrap her light robe around herself a little more. She would _watch_ , she would see what her husband did on his moonlit walk through the night, accompanied only by his most trusted and constant companion.

And she would _strike_ the foolish girls behind her even now softly giggling and whispering to each other how obvious it was _why_ the king would keep company with Swordsman Woon, extolling his virtues and speculating as to the bond between the two men, if they did not _be silent_.

The king stepped back again, and Chae Woon gracefully moved around him, clearly knowing him well enough to have anticipated the shift. As the king resumed his walk, Chae Woon fell in very nearly at his _side_ , not trailing a few paces behind, as he should have.

As the king's closest personal guard, perhaps Woon should have been expected closer than any other attendant, but no one save another of the royal family should walk abreast with their king, and even then. . .

Bokyeong's nails dug into her palms and she grit her teeth, watching her husband lift a hand to Chae Woon's shoulder, an obviously familiar touch splaying lightly over his back, just as they turned a corner and slipped out of sight.

It was a long time before she could make herself move, though she had no delusion that she would see her husband again tonight.

* * *

First drafted in a Music Challenge, inspired by the song Perfection, by Oh Land. I . . . really just have zero sympathy for Bokyeong, to be honest. Her family definitely raised her to be awful, and didn't put her in a good spot to become anything else, but she orchestrated a good part of her own distresses as an adult.


End file.
